Weaving In
by Pingpong
Summary: The final installment of Goytha's story, and the ultimate consequence of her protection of the shaman's girl.


Weaving In

An Emperor's Edge fanfiction

by Cael ( /~Pingpong)

_In crochet, "weaving in" refers to the act of securing the yarn strings dangling free into the rest of the project, hiding them. It is usually the final step of the project._

Goytha was waiting for them in the warm gloom of the kitchen, perched on the edge of the old rocking chair in her best dress. She'd been expecting them in the week following the meeting with Hollowcrest and they certainly did not disappoint as two rows of men decended the stairs and turned smartly on their heels so the lines faced one another.

The straight-backed form of Hollowcrest slowly walked down the stairs between them, hands clasped behind his back looking at her through his spectacles. His face was as blank as her own but she could see both challenge and triumph in his eyes. She watched him with a fierce regality, already knowing her fate but determined to face it with dignity. He stopped in front of the rocking chair, looking down his nose at her with that infuriating haughtiness of the warrior caste. The dim, flickering light of the fire sent odd shadows skittering across his face, warping his features into that of a monster.

He nodded to one of the near guards, and the man broke formation to step forward, withdrawing a sheet of paper from his jacket. Above the uniform of the emperor's personal guard was a familiar face; Lorn had been one of the messenger lads in the not so distant past. What was now a broad shouldered, intensely disciplined man had once been a nuisance in the kitchens on baking days. She stared at him and saw only the impish boy of eleven, sticky face beaming at her even as his adult baritone echoed through the empty kitchens.

"Goytha Bern," he intoned solemnly. "You are hearby charged with treason against the empire, its citizens and ruler alike, for harboring a dangerous fugitive, releasing said fugitive into the empire at large and protecting the whereabouts of said fugitive from an agent of the empire, to whit Commander of the Armies Hollowcrest. The punishment is death by hanging and purging of your family name from imperial records. On the authority of the Commander of the Armies Hollowcrest, producing the fugitive or revealing the whereabouts of the fugitive will reduce the punishment to death by firing squad. These are the charges against you. Do you have anything to say in your defense?"

That was just a formality, of course. If she was being charged with having the girl in her kitchen, when it was the officers that put her there. There was nothing she could say. Her death was coming regardless and so Goytha simply smiled at Lorn, whose solid mask slipped for a moment to reveal the stricken man beneath.

Hollowcrest nodded again. "That will be all, soldier."

Schooling his features, Lorn stepped back into formation and stared straight ahead.

Goytha turned her gaze onto Hollowcrest, cocking her head slightly. "Well, you do tie a neat and pretty bow when you clean up, don't you, Hollow? First Hergcrest, and then poor Vera. Now myself."

He sighed. "I'm sorry to do this, Goytha." _Liar._ "But you left me no choice. The girl may be lost to me for now, but sedition is a very serious thing. I'm not sure how you got the girl out, or why your kitchen woman thought pointing her finger at Sicarius would be wise but this whole situation certainly shows me you are not the loyal imperial citizen I thought you were. The emperor believes you involved in far deeper plots than this; he has ordered your death."

Sitting straighter, she tightened her mouth. "And erasing my family from the history books? Is that the emperor's command as well?"

"You know that is reserved for the worst traitors. He believes you to be one."

"Well thank my ancestors that I never got around to having children, yes?" She smoothed her skirt and stared down at the familiar flagstone floor. What a mess she'd gotten herself into. But she thought about Bryn's beaming smile and steeled her resolve.

"Well then," she said, looking up at him again. "What now? Shall I walk myself to the gallows or would you rather I put some theatrics on it?"

Clearly, that wasn't what he'd been expecting. "If you provide her location you needn't be hanged, Goytha," he said, tensing.

She waved her hand dismissively. "I hear that with an experienced executioner it's not a bad way to die."

"Goytha," he said, his voice hard. "There are... messier ways to make you talk before you die."

She narrowed her eyes and met his hard stare with one of her own. "Hollow," she bit out, "you may torture me until I have no more blood in my body and I will never tell you where that girl is." Not that she knew herself. That would certainly help.

He contemplated her for a long moment, as if weighing the merits of torturing her for the information. It did not matter; she would endure everything they could do to her and would not speak one word about Bryn. She saw her death and found only peace in the safety of that little girl and relief at Sicarius's escape from suspicion.

Eventually the man sneered at her and motioned the waiting men to surround her. "I will allow you to reconsider your offer in the dungeons until dawn, Goytha. If you still refuse, you will hang."

She sighed and stood from the worn rocking chair, hand caressing the smooth wood as she stared around the familiar kitchen one last time. And then she raised her chin, allowed herself to be surrounded by the guard and was ushered quietly out of the kitchens she'd been master of for more than thirty years.

The cell she'd been put in - quite respectfully for a traitor, she thought wryly - was cold and damp which made her knees and hands ache viciously. There was a single heavy wooden bench pushed against the far wall opposite sturdy metal bars. A kerosene lantern hung from a hook in the corridor and shed a weak glow that did little to brighten up the dusty, grimy space.

She sat on the bench, ignoring her protesting back, and stared at her hands, lost in more than fifty years of memories. The hours melted away and only the sounds of rats skittering in the darkness and dripping water broke the heavy silence. She thought of the children she had raised, the recipes she hadn't written down (how would they make the pumpkin soup now?) and her husband, dead almost twenty years now. That surprised her when she did the math; it felt like just yesterday she'd had a Colonel telling her that her Reg had died in a border skirmish. A hero to the end, he'd told her with that shiny smile that meant he didn't believe a word he was telling her.

She wondered what excuse they would come up with to explain away her disappearance.

Setting that thought aside sternly, she mulled over something that had been on her mind for many weeks now, since Bryn went 'missing'.

In all Goytha's years knowing Sicarius, never once had she witnessed or even heard rumor of him helping someone of his own volition. Yes, she had implored him to view the girl as himself that first night, but she had known it was futile even as the words left her mouth. She'd seen the quiet boy grow and despaired as he hardened and warped under the thumb of Hollowcrest. Over the years she'd seen glimpses of that diamond-hard focus he could bring to bear under the hardest of circumstances.

She smiled a little as the image once again came to mind: the small girl deeply asleep against his leg, mouth open and little legs splayed. She held that picture tightly in her mind's eye, determined to forever see the little girl like that and not imagine the horrors that would befall her if she was found.

She shook her head slowly in weary despair. Bryn was barely as old as the young prince and already a pawn desperately sought in a terrible power game. Idly, Goytha briefly entertained the correlation between the similarly aged children; perhaps Sicarius was fond of the little prince and somehow...? But no, that was nearing on the impossible. Even if he was the type to be fond of anyone, she'd heard from the serving maids that the Princess took extra pains to shelter the young prince from the terrible things that went on in the royal quarters. The girls told of prolific tantrums thrown by the emperor at what he called 'coddling' and the regal, lovely woman who sometimes stayed in her apartments with her son for days to avoid them. Goytha imagined that such protectiveness extended to the chilling implacability that was Sicarius. They'd probably never formally met.

The heavy thuds of booted feet echoed down the stone hall, coming toward her cell. She smiled to herself and shrugged, letting the thoughts fade. It seemed she'd never know the reason for Sicarius's puzzling actions.

The rope was smooth around her neck, placed there by the considerate hands of a man wearing no rank pins or insignia. That seemed to be wrong somehow, she mused. Executions should be done by bare-chested, monsterous men sneering as they jammed the rough rope over your head. The midday sun was pleasantly warm and a mild breeze ruffled the skirts of her best dress, now soiled by the dust of the dungeons. Only Hollowcrest and the rankless executioner were in attendance.

This is where she should be panicking, she knew. Begging for her life even. But a heavy blanket of calm settled over her body as the floor dropped out from beneath her feet and the rope snapped taut.

Hollowcrest stared at the corpse swinging from the thick rope, fury twisting his guts. He ground his teeth until his jaw hurt and cursed the woman silently. Sicarius appeared in his peripheral vision, ghosting along without a sound and interrupting the older man's inner tirade. He gave the body a cursory, uninterested glance as he scanned his surroundings and then stood, waiting for orders.

Blowing a sharp breath out his nose, Hollowcrest tamped down the anger and turned his back to the gallows. "Report," Hollowcrest barked.

"The men are restless. She was well liked."

"Attempt to worm out any allies as if she was truly plotting against the empire. Damn fool woman sacrificed herself for the welfare of a single halfbreed brat, but the emperor sees a deep laid plot. We should give him the impression we are working hard to uncover it."

Sicarius inclined his head once. "Understood."

"You are dismissed."

Hollowcrest turned and strode toward the Imperial Barracks without looking back.

When he was gone, and the young man was sure no one was watching him he darted forward. In a blur of motion, he placed something in the woman's hand and curled it around the object before vaulting the back wall of the courtyard and vanishing.

A small eleven sided coin, one of a pair, half of a puzzle. With some dexterity and a sharp mind, it might've fit snugly into a similarly shaped coin in the pocket of an apron hanging in the homey room behind the dry stores.

Accomanying the coin were kind words. Word forgotten by a woman - old enough even then to be allowed to forget - spoken to a young boy hiding from lessons that hurt. He had never been permitted to forget anything.

"_Now, this is one of a kind. You keep this piece and know it means you owe me a favor, lad. One day, I'll ask for it back and you'll have to repay that favor. It may come tomorrow or it may never come at all, but when it's returned that means your debt to me is paid."_


End file.
